


take a sip from my secret potion (falling in love)

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Ghosts, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4148628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After running away to Pendle, Louis is being haunted by some angry spirits, and so he seeks solace in Worst Witch Harry Styles. Louis is looking for a potion to fix his problems, but the answer may be a bit simpler than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take a sip from my secret potion (falling in love)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinkchampagne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkchampagne/gifts).



> Happy reading, Perfect. I wish I could give you something a little moreso, but I hope you're having a good spring/summer regardless. :)
> 
> Notes: I am not insinuating that these people act or feel this way. Or that they're secretly magical. As a warning, there are thinly veiled references to panic attacks within this fic.

If Louis had to compare it to something, it might be crashing through thin ice. There’s the shock and stillness with the instant cold, the way it knocks the breath out of him. There’s the way he scrabbles at his own skin, clawing like he’s trying to break the surface again, find the air to haul himself out of the water.

Drowning, even.

The worst bit is that it’s never really over. The intensity comes and goes, but the presence is always there. 

The spirits were never this way _before_. 

Before moving to Pendle, Louis lived a relatively normal existence. Sure, he had had visits when he was a kid, and always spotted spirits moving through the sixth form halls, but they had never bothered him. He went through uni with nary a mention to his mates, and eventually built a small reputation in London connecting family members with their deceased loved ones.

While Louis knows that it wasn’t normal, it felt that way to him. He’d attend the conventions and rake in enough money to afford his flat and his food, and then he yawned and told all his mates he hated his job at the call centre and ‘was planning to quit any day now.’

Of course, all of that was before Stan’s mum spotted him at one of the conventions. He had tried to play it off like he was just up for a scam, but some of his neighbours at nearby booths got all up in arms about that. They had insisted that Louis had _the gift_ , that they had seen it, and eventually Louis got so torn between the two parties, he just dropped his head in his hands.

It was a small incident, but the ripples left an impact on Louis. Stan had confronted him, and embarrassed, he decided to bolt. Both in the immediate sense, and long-term. 

Since conventions had felt like his safe place, Pendle had seemed like the next best thing. So much witchcraft and folklore, it seemed easy to just hide.

He should have thought about it more, though, since Pendle is so full of spirits, old and new, that he’s surrounded. 

Most mind their own business, but there are some that are angry. Upset at just the idea of being noticed.

Louis understands the feeling, but he really doesn’t want them to get close.

\---

Louis sits on the bench across from the shop for a full fifteen minutes before he decides to go in. It’s a fifty-fifty shot that the store will even be legit. The town, while small, is rooted in witch-tourists, the kind who love to sulk through graveyards and castles and read about women getting burned or flattened. Once he shakes off his current problem, _if he shakes it off_ , it might be a prime place to set up a business. 

The door swings inward, and he steps into the small shop, the smell of lavender coming over him instantly. He spots some hanging upside down on the wall behind the till.

Right away, Louis’ eye catches the man on the side of the room. Unmoving, with cold, hard eyes. He stands stock still, and Louis blinks away. The spirits usually appear more washed out, and it worries him that this one can appear so… solid. 

He turns towards the first row of books, ignoring the feeling of eyes in his back. 

His fingers brush the spines, reading the titles slowly, as if they could distract him.

_Lady of the Night_  
_Keys to the Occult_  
_Your First Book of Shadows_

“Can I help you find something?”

Louis almost jumps from surprise. He hadn’t heard anyone approach.

He straightens up and looks at the person addressing him.

The man-boy is looking at him, all wide-eyed and helpful. 

“Er, just browsing,” Louis mumbles. He’s not sure yet if he has the power in him to even vocalize the problem. Even if it is an authentic magic shop, saying ‘I’m being haunted by ghosts’ is all a bit too Sixth Sense for his liking and he’d rather just avoid it altogether. This is something he can deal with by himself, thanks.

“Okay,” the worker nods, but he doesn’t move. He rocks back on his heels a bit, like he’s about to turn, but something stops him. Maybe he can read Louis’ face after all.

Louis stops and glances quickly behind him. Surely enough, the man is still at the wall, eyes baring into him. A chill settles itself in Louis’ ribs, though not as bad as it has been.

“Is that guy standing over there really there?” Louis asks plainly. He figures there’s probably enough nutters in this town that the question doesn’t seem so out of place.

The worker blinks and looks over Louis’ shoulder, right where the man stands, still unmoving.

“Yeah, that’s Barney,” he says. “He weirds people out, but I feel bad kicking him out. I’ll get rid of him.”

Louis watches as the worker slides on over to where the man stood. Louis almost can’t believe it, that it wasn’t a spirit after all, before he spots another.

This one is calmer, though, a welcome change. When his eyes finally find her, he’s surprised to see it’s an older woman, hovering behind the till. How hadn’t he seen her before? She’s faded a bit, kind of fuzzy, which tells Louis a lot of things. Primarily, though, it means that she’s getting ready to let go for real. She looks at Louis and smiles at him.

“Sorry about that,” comes the voice again. The worker is back after escorting the creepy man away. “He’s always around. He’s not a bad guy, honestly, it’s just that he doesn’t have much else going on. So he stands here. Says he likes the smell of the place.”

While he rambles on, Louis takes another look at him. He’s got a couple inches on Louis, with hair that drapes down onto his shoulders, bits curling underneath themselves. He looks young, maybe even younger than Louis.

“Do you own this place?” Louis asks. He doesn’t mean for the incredulity to slip into his voice, but there it is. This bloke must be twenty-five tops; it’d be odd for him to run his own business.

He nods. “Yeah, I actually inherited it from my grandmother.”

“Oh!” Louis says. His eyes involuntarily dart over to the spirit by the till. “You look just like her.”

The other boy blinks, and Louis momentarily ponders bolting. 

“Yeah, a lot of my family members say that,” he responds, his eyebrows knitted as he looks over to where Louis had glanced. He clearly doesn’t see her there. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Louis.”

“So did you know my grandmother?” Harry asks.

Louis shakes his head.

“So…” Harry says, shifting on his feet a little. “You see dead people?”

The bluntness and the delivery shock a laugh out of Louis. He covers his mouth up and looks down at the ground. 

He’s not even sure what made him say that-- he’s been trying not to make contact since he left London. When they’ve gotten too close, they’ve been giving him _those feelings_ and he’ll do anything to avoid them. This woman, though, she seems sweet. And she’s got the same round face and dimple as the boy standing in front of him. She can’t be that bad.

“So you run some kind of occult book store and apothecary?” Louis counters.

Harry smiles and shrugs. “I mean, I’d say it’s more of an organic remedy store than an apothecary.”

Louis looks at Harry like he’s unconvinced.

“I mean, it just so happens that I have the best cold remedy in town. And the books, well, you’ve got to please the tourists somehow.”

Harry winks at him. 

“Are you sure there isn’t something I can help you with?” Harry asks again.

Louis pauses. “Well, I’m having issues with the whole Haley Joel Osment thing,” he says, as tactfully as possible.

Harry waves him over to the counter, where he jots something down on a piece of paper. It looks like a mess of scribbles to Louis, but Harry worries his lip as he takes his notes. He looks up as if he’s calculating something in his mind.

“Yeah, okay. Come back tomorrow,” Harry says. “I might have something for you.”

Louis blinks. “But you don’t even really know…” he starts. 

But Harry’s looking at him so hopefully, and Louis really has to give the guy more credit. With those puppy dog eyes, it’s no wonder he can run this place on his own. He could sell Louis water for thirty quid, no questions asked. 

“Okay,” Louis nods. “I’ll be here tomorrow, pumpkin.”

Harry looks up quickly with a secret smile. It reminds Louis of when he first started doing conventions and sharing his gift with others. It’s those secret things that connect people with their loved ones-- inside jokes, pet names-- that are his favorite. It’s always the lightbulb moment, the time when people actually start to take his abilities seriously, trust him more.

Probably no one else besides his grandmother has called Harry pumpkin. 

“Tomorrow, I promise,” Harry says, smiling still.

“Tomorrow,” Louis agrees, and for the time being, he feels light.

\---

Louis doesn’t sleep that night.

Instead, he sits propped up against his headboard, pointedly ignoring the spirit outside his window. Louis looks down at the book in his lap, although it’s useless because his eyes are unfocused, drooping from the sleep that so desperately wants to take over. But Louis blinks and sits more upright and does not, does not fall asleep. 

He briefly glances over at the spirit at his window. Young girl, those are the worst. They’re always desperate to find their loved ones, always trying to get some message across. This one’s face is twisted in anger, her little fist pressed up against the window. Louis’ body shivers at just the glance, his anxiety rising just looking at her. He doesn’t want to feel like this again. He doesn’t want that at all.

He forces himself to look away and take deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose…

\---

When Louis comes to in the morning, he jolts himself awake. The book falls off his chest and slides down to the floor with a thump as he struggles to get his bearings. He wasn’t supposed to fall asleep. He didn’t want to lose any power against himself. He didn’t want to be vulnerable.

He checks his clock. Almost noon. He had still been awake around half four. He must have lost it just before he would have gotten up to make a cuppa and watch the sun rise. Another sun rise for another day.

The only positive thing about this day, he thinks to himself as he rubs his eyes, is that he’s going back to the shop and Harry might have something to help him. If he is a real witch after all.

Louis hopes so desperately that he is.

After he bathes and shaves his face, he reasons that he looks decent enough to appear in public. Sure, the circles under his eyes are getting deeper and darker, but at least he doesn’t smell. That seems to be the one thing going for him.

He walks through the village with his head down. It’s almost amazing how he doesn’t walk right into something. He doesn’t catch the way that he’s sending enough bad vibes to cause even the nicest people diving out of his path. He lets his muscle memory direct him back to the shop, and he wonders what he’s going to say to Harry when he gets there.

Will the old lady spirit be there again today?

He’s not sure how he feels about that, to be honest. Ever since running into Stan’s mum at that convention, almost every spirit has been nasty to him. It doesn’t quite make sense to him. Even more confusing, though, is how the old woman in the shop has been the only one who seemed almost… friendly. Maybe not the right word choice, but not evil. Not after him.

Instead of sending him into panic mode, she almost put him at ease a bit.

So he’s not sure if he would mind if she were in there.

But of course, he knows spirits, so even before he gets to the front door and pushes in, he knows that she will be in there, near the till and almost translucent.

The shop is empty when he enters-- almost completely. Not a living soul, Louis laughs to himself, because surely enough, there’s Harry’s grandmother, watching him calmly from her spot. Louis offers her a smile, a token as some kind of bargaining chip. Maybe if he’s nice to her, she won’t come too close. It’s always when they get too close that he starts freaking out.

“Hi there,” Harry’s voice comes from the back room. It’s a moment before Harry enters the room, apron wrapped around his front, looking a bit frazzled. “Oh, it’s you! Hi.”

“Hi,” Louis responds, shifting his weight.

“I was just finishing up the thing for you!” Harry insists.

“Oh, really?”

Harry grins and nods.

“Really, no customers knocking down the doors today?” Louis responds, gesturing to the practically empty storefront.

“Well, you see, most people are at work today,” Harry laughs. 

“Ah, conventional jobs. So quaint.”

Harry practically skips over to the door and flips the sign on it. ‘Be right back! :)’ is written in black Sharpie. 

“C’mon, let me show you.”

Louis follows Harry into the backroom, feeling like he’s crossing some kind of boundary. They just met yesterday, and here Harry is, bringing Louis into his backroom. It all feels kind of personal.

“Hey MTV, welcome to my crib,” Louis drawls out as they bound into the back work room.

Harry grins, his dimple popping, and he turns to Louis slowly. As dry as he can probably muster, Harry sighs, “This is where the magic happens.”

Louis guffaws at that. “I see what you did there, and I approve,” he says, nodding.

Harry keeps leading him back across rows and rows of different spices and leaves. Really all kinds of flora and fauna that Louis has never even heard of. Possibly even dried up parts of dead animals. 

The area opens up into a kitchen. 

“I already put it in a take-away container, but I can heat it right up,” Harry is saying as he reaches for the refrigerator door.

Louis blinks and watches Harry pull out a plastic container with ‘L. Tomlinson’ written across it. 

“Didn’t tell you my last name,” Louis points out.

“And I didn’t tell you anything about Granny Ethel. But you just so happen to be the rogue and disheartened young man who has piqued the townsfolk’s curiosity.”

Louis smiles at that. He quite likes the thought of being mysterious.

Harry picks up an empty pot and drops it on top of the hob with a clatter. It lights up easily enough, and soon Harry is stirring the concoction with a wooden spoon.

“So you’re a medium,” Harry says, not taking his eyes off the pot.

Louis hums in affirmation. “Yeah, for about as long as I can remember.”

“That’s kind of cool,” Harry says. When Louis doesn’t respond he glances over. Upon seeing Louis’ furrowed brows, he hastily adds, “Or not. Not cool.”

Louis shrugs. “It’s fine. It’s just that lately all the ghosts I’ve been in contact with have been angry.”

Harry frowns at that. “I see,” he answers, looking back at the broth he’s heating. Before Louis even knows it, Harry’s muttering to himself. “You know what I should have done…”

He takes a step back from the hob and shuffles quickly over to his rows and rows of herbs. Louis glances back to the pot and sees the wooden spoon still stirring itself. He can’t help the smile that pulls up on his face.

“Is that… lavender?” Louis asks, as he sees Harry walk back with a couple of springs of some purple looking flower in his hand. Harry nods, dropping them into a pestle and mortar and giving it a few grinds before dumping it into the pot. 

“What kind of stuff do you have in there?” Louis asks.

Harry grins at him, clearly contemplating how much he wants to fuck with Louis.

“Eye of newt, toe of frog,” Harry lists off, ticking each finger.

“Ha, ha,” Louis responds, completely devoid of emotion. “It’s probably best I don’t know anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” Harry shrugs. “I mean, I certainly don’t ask what’s in the chicken at McDonald’s…”

Louis’ eyebrows climb a little bit higher, but instead of commenting, he just leans back and watches Harry finish everything up.

“Seems the right thickness,” Harry murmurs to himself. He hunches over the pot, whatever’s inside boiling now, letting steam rise up and curl into his face.

Without another word, Harry pulls out a styrofoam container, and pours all of it in one go, not spilling a drop. He covers it quickly and slips it into a takeaway bag and hands it off to Louis with a smile.

“Take two and call me in the morning,” he says with a grin.

\---

Louis sleeps through the night.

\---

“You told me to call you in the morning,” Louis says, strolling through the shop doors. Lucky for him, Harry is in the front, checking something or other on the bookshelves.

“So I did,” Harry says, smiling and sitting back on his heels. “And how do you feel?”

Louis rocks back and forth a little bit, shooting a quick glance over at Harry’s gran’s ghost-form over on the side. “I feel good,” he says with a shrug. “I slept and everything!”

Harry’s eyebrows knit at that. His face goes from looking like a bright ray of sunshine to looking decidedly serious and confused.

“Really?” he asks.

“Really,” Louis insists. “What was in that?”

“Nothing crazy,” Harry says, “like no narcotics or anything. Just natural stuff. Herbal.”

“Okay,” Louis responds, drawing out the word. 

“Sorry,” Harry interrupts, shaking his head. “That must have seemed rude. I just mean that it’s weird it worked so well for you, because I’m absolute rubbish at potions.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “The way I slept last night begs to differ,” he offers.

Harry stands up and wipes his palms on his trousers. Dealing with the old books gets a bit dusty, and maybe one day he might learn to preserve his clothing.

“I’m better at cooking,” Harry says.

“Some witch you are, then,” Louis muses. “Still better than me, suppose. Can’t cook or make potions. Just see dead people.”

Harry nods, and it’s just the two of them standing there, bobbing heads. Louis’ not even sure where the cooking topic came from… oh.

Well, then.

“I can cook for you,” Harry suggests, opening his palms up in a gesture. “I mean, I kind of already have, and I swear, I’m better at dinner.”

It’s entirely possible Louis underestimated Harry’s flirtatious prowess.

Still, part of Louis can’t help but feel he shouldn’t be tangling himself up in something, now that he’s just run away to some village. 

He’s never been good at making sense, though.

“Could be nice,” he agrees, cocking his hip to the side, just to get the message across.

Harry’s smile grows a bit more. 

“Tomorrow?” he suggests. “I can even have more of the potion ready for you.”

“Sounds great,” Louis agrees. He takes a step backwards, trying to flit away in some sexy manner. Of course, it’s the only time where someone actually enters the store, and so Louis physically backs into someone who is just entering. He hadn’t even heard the bell above the door. 

Louis can’t hold back his laughter as he’s apologizing to the woman, who mostly just looks confused. He shoots Harry a glance, and sees him snorting into his hand. 

He mumbles off one last apology and goodbye before he’s out the door and rushing back through the village to his flat, where he can mourn his embarrassing nature in peace.

But even still, Harry Styles, adorable and worst witch around, wants to make him dinner.

\---

 

If he were still talking to his friends in London, he probably would have called one of them for some advice on the situation. First, there was the issue of whether it was even ethical to try and seduce someone from whom you were soliciting goods. And second, there was the issue of what he should wear as he did the unethical seducing.

As Louis lays out a button-up shirt on his bed, he contemplates the additional ethics of whether he should even be getting involved with any of this at all. He’s practically haunted by spirits, some pretty angry, and he is cut off from contact by any of his friends. Not the healthiest person to start some kind of relationship.

But…, he reasons to himself, ever since Harry started making him the potion, the spirits haven’t been so angry. He hasn’t had a panic attack since. He sees the spirits still, naturally; he doubts that’s ever going to go away. And in some way, he doesn’t even want them to go away. Seeing ghosts is all he’s ever known.

Also, he reasons to himself, Harry is really fit. Louis deserves some happiness, dangit. 

Louis buttons all the way up to the collar, feeling the way the button presses into his throat. 

Naturally, Harry lives right above the shop in an unassuming little flat, one that Louis had barely even noticed the first time he visited. It felt like the shop took over the building, but no, that second story window had different curtains.

Louis starts making the familiar walk there. It occurs to him, oddly enough, that while he’s only been here a short amount of time, he feels rooted, almost comfortable. Part of him misses the noises of the city-- the constant hum or sirens or horns or even pissed groups of lads shouting to each other-- but the stillness of Pendle, the lazy way people walk and drive about is comforting. 

He stares down at his trainers as he approaches the door at the side of the shop. There’s a bell there, and all Louis needs to do is press it, and then Harry will let him in. They’ll eat and talk and laugh and it will be fine. It will be great. Louis will be able to hide the depth of his spirit issues, and they’ll fall in love and everything will be fine.

He takes a deep breath, choosing to look at the buzzer in front of him as opposed to the spirit watching him from 3 meters away.

Raising his hand, fingers shaking and stomach jumping around, he presses the button and listens to the chimes from above. Of course Harry has his window open.

He and Harry’s eyes meet as Harry peeks out the window. Harry smiles and waves quickly before disappearing. A moment later, Louis hears the latch behind the door, and there’s Harry, holding the door open with a smile.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds a bit breathless. 

“Hello,” Louis responds, instantly smiling back. There is something about Harry, and he’s not sure he can even put a finger on it, that makes him smile. No reservations, just instinctually and genuinely smiling. 

“Come on up,” Harry responds, stepping back and gesturing. The rickety stairs lead them up to a small entryway. Louis peeks down and sees a series of neatly arranged shoes, so he takes the cue to toe his trainers off. He had chosen a nice, clean pair of socks in case of this particular scenario. 

“I realized I didn’t ask if you were a vegetarian,” Harry says as he leads Louis further into the flat. “I made fajitas, though, so if you don’t eat meat, you can just do the veg.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Louis responds, glancing around the flat. “I’m kind of a carnivore.”

Harry nods in response, looking slightly relieved that he didn’t offend Louis. 

The walls are a simple white, but he’s got a couple of canvases lining the wall. Louis wants to take a closer look, see if Harry did them or if he bought them. There are plenty of framed photographs about-- it seems like every surface has a handful.

It seems cozy. Lived-in.

“Lived here long?” Louis asks. He hoists himself onto a stool at the bar, appreciating the open concept that allows him to watch Harry put the finishing touches on dinner.

“In this flat? Snagged it as soon as the person who was living here cleared out. I used to live in a flat across town, and it seemed to make so much more sense to live where I work, you know? So when the woman who was here before me kicked the bucket, I jumped right on it.”

There’s a pause.

“You took this flat from a dead woman?” Louis exclaims. He turns quickly to see if there are any spirits lingering nearby. Especially if it’s the spirit of a woman scorned by the guy who owns the shop below her flat. The flat is blissfully empty, though.

Harry chuckles and shakes his head.

“No, sorry. Morbid sense of humor.”

Louis sighs in relief and chuckles.

“No, the woman was getting married and wanted to buy new property with her fiance,” Harry explains. “Much less interesting story, though.”

“But you’re from Pendle?” Louis asks. “Or your family, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “Granny owned the shop and lived here her whole life. My mum wanted to kind of get away from it all. She didn’t really like the witch stigma, so we moved away. But then when my nan started getting sick, we moved back.”

“So your mum’s still around too?” Louis asks. He hopes he’s not probing too much, what with it kind of being a first date and all, but he’s really interested in Harry’s life. His family doesn’t have his abilities at all. He assumes he inherited it all from his father, whom he’s never known.

“Oh, well, no she moved in with her fiance a few towns over. Pretty recently, actually.”

Louis nods. The more he talks to Harry, the more he feels some sort of string between the two of them, tying them together. There’s so much they have in common; it’s hard to ignore the feeling.

“Oh, my mum was remarried, too,” Louis says offhand.

Harry looks over at him, lighting up instantly. Louis’ not sure why-- he didn’t say anything particularly interesting, but then it settles on him. Harry doesn’t know that much about Louis at all.

Just that he’s kind of having some problems with ghosts.

The thought startles a laugh out of Louis. Harry’s eager face turns to mild confusion, although it’s tinged with amusement. 

“Sorry,” Louis says. “You’re not the only one with a morbid sense of humor.”

Harry shrugs and leans forward. “What’s so funny, then?”

Louis contemplates how to say it without completely outing himself as unhinged.

“I just… we’re sitting here, talking to each other. Learning about each other. And I’m like, oh he doesn’t know that much about me. And then it hits me. You actually know more than practically all my mates back in London.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow and it makes Louis worry that he ruined the moment, made things too real.

“How can that be?” Harry asks, still leaning forward, spatula dangerously close to his own face.

“Well, no one in my family can see spirits, either. And so I’ve just… dealt with it. Made money off it and everything. I was pretty popular with some tourists in London, met people in the circuit, but still. None of my uni friends knew any of it. To them, I worked at a dead-end call centre. Maybe some of them thought I dealt.”

“I mean,” Harry says, looking thoughtful, “If they didn’t grow up around this all, I can understand why you wouldn’t tell them. They’ll think you’re mad.”

Louis nods. “Too right.”

“Still,” Harry continues, “Doesn’t mean they don’t know you. That’s a really personal piece of information. Your choice whether or not to tell someone. In my opinion,” he tacks on, looking sheepish.

Louis smiles, hand nestled in his chin. 

“Yes, well.” Louis pauses and coughs. “My mate’s mum saw me at one of the conventions. Didn’t really stick around long enough to hear the fall out of that one.”

Harry turns to get the dishes and sets them on the table. It’s a little thing, probably sold as something to play cards on, but Harry’s thrown a tablecloth over it. Without warning, the candle sitting on top of it puffs up a small flame.

Louis doesn’t hold back the grin on that one. Harry’s powers are pretty cool.

They settle in and Harry offers Louis a tortilla. As Louis is adding the chicken and veg on top, Harry asks, “So you think they know?”

Louis nods.

“Is it why you’re having your ghosty problem?” Harry asks, mouth moving around a bit of fajita.

Louis thinks. The timing is all the same.

“Well, that started getting bad around the same time. But I also got here right after that, so,” he trails off.

“Ah, wonderful Pendle,” Harry echoes. “Come for the history, and get tortured by it.”  
Louis cracks a smile at that and takes a big bite of his food. 

“Oh my god, that is good,” Louis murmurs, holding a hand under his mouth so nothing drops out. He’s always been rubbish at manners.

“It’s nothing crazy, you know,” Harry responds, laughing but looking pleased with himself.

They’ll both accept the change of subject.

When they’re both done, they still sit at the table, both plates clean, exchanging stories. Growing up, having sisters, school, pranks, friends. Louis even internally fist pumps when he feels Harry’s ankle bump against his, a small thrill sparking up his spine. 

When they both finally get up to put the dishes in the sink, Louis hands off a plate to Harry. Harry sets it down, and then quickly spins back to Louis.

Louis’ lips quirk upward, because he hopes, he hopes.

Harry cocks his hip and tilts his head, watching Louis’ expression.

“May I help you?” Louis asks, all faux-innocence.

Harry grins. “Well, depends. I’ve had a nice time talking to you.”

“Co-signed.”

“And I have been flirting with you an awful lot.”

“I’ve noticed,” Louis responds, lips still quivering.

“And maybe I’m off in my judgement, but you seem to be responding well.”

“Can’t argue that.”

Harry laughs. “So would it bother you if I kissed you?”

Louis laughs then. So formal.

“Wouldn’t bother me in the slightest. In fact, I might actually enjoy it.”

Harry scrunches his nose up in laughter and steps a little closer. Louis feels that pull, that string, draw more taunt as he reaches out and wraps his hands around Harry’s forearms. Harry swoops that final bit in and kisses him, pushing them both back with its pressure.  
Louis’ left hand drifts up against Harry’s neck, feeling the pulsepoint under his fingertips as he holds Harry’s face against his.

“I really like talking to you,” Harry mumbles, his breath washing over Louis. Sure, there’s a bit of onion breath there, but honestly, the realness of Harry only endears Louis even more.

“Not the kissing?” Louis laughs, not willing to pull himself away from Harry just yet.

“The kissing was nice too,” Harry adds, cheeks still flushed. 

Louis nods and steps back, both of their arms reaching out until they separate and drop back down. “I should probably get going,” he says, not wanting Harry to assume anything.

Harry smiles. “I know I said I’d give you more of that potion, but I don’t have it here.”

Louis doesn’t think of the shop directly below them.

“You’ll have to come stop by the shop tomorrow to pick it up, if you have the time,” Harry tacks on.

Louis smiles, recognizing Harry’s line for what it is. He hadn’t given Harry enough credit. Smooth as silk, honestly.

“I’ll make the time,” Louis nods. “And not just for the potion.”

By the time he’s left Harry’s flat, Louis is flushed and giddy. He thinks maybe Harry had been the one doing the seducing, after all.

\---

“What do you think I should do?” Louis asks, pausing before letting his tongue dart out and lick a strip of ice cream clear off his cone.

It’s a bit of a heavy topic for an ice cream date, but Louis feels comfortable with Harry. Harry already knows some of the deepest secrets of his life and doesn’t judge him for it. 

Louis feels himself falling hard-- and fast-- but he doesn’t want it to stop. He’s enjoying the ride for now. 

“About what?” Harry asks. He’s got his own cone mirroring Louis’, but Louis’ been faster. Harry’s is starting to drip a little, what with Harry being the world’s slowest ice cream eater.

For a moment, Louis thinks about turning it into a joke. _About you making a mess all over your face with this ice cream._ And then Harry would wiggle his eyebrows and say something suggestive, and then Louis would go in for a cheeky snog, and he wouldn’t even be bringing his London life into his new budding romance.

Except part of him wants to be open and vulnerable with Harry. 

Louis is just… tired. Tired of keeping the spirits away, tired of hiding himself away. 

“Should I call them?” 

Harry looks thoughtful and takes another lick, tongue flickering forward like a snake.

“Who? Your family? Stan?”

“Either, both,” Louis shrugs.

“Yeah, I reckon,” Harry says simply, nodding. “If Stan is upset and angry, then at least you’d know for sure. Right now, you only have the presumption. If it were me, and obviously feel free to ignore my shitty advice, but I think I’d want to know for sure.”

Louis sits in quiet for a moment, letting himself picture the moment where he calls Stan and… what? Stan has undergone amnesia and has forgotten the whole thing? Stan straight away asks if if he’s a medium and Louis can just murmur a ‘yes’ without having to go into the whole spiel?

He shakes himself out of his thoughts for a moment. There’s a spirit across the way from where he and Harry are sitting. Louis’ having trouble getting a read on him-- he doesn’t seem that angry. His energy is mostly directed at Harry in a way, even though Harry has no idea that the spirit is even there.

Eventually, Harry notices Louis looking across the way, eyes focused like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle.

“Someone over there?” Harry asks.

Louis murmurs an agreement and takes another lick of his ice cream.

That’s when the key turns, and he gets it.

Louis snorts into his cone.

 

“Oh, just Mr. Braumfeld from Year Seven.”

Harry’s head whips around. “No,” he gasps, starting to laugh.

“Oh yes,” Louis teases. “Apparently you were a little bastard in his class.”

“He was so mean,” Harry moans. “No offense,” he tacks on, since the man’s spirit is lurking nearby after all. He has always heard it’s inappropriate to speak ill of the dead. 

Louis smirks at him, chuckling at the way his cheeks are flushed with embarrassment as he hides behind the remnants of his ice cream cone. 

“Hey,” Louis says.

Harry looks over at him, eyes wide.

Louis darts forward, tapping the cone into Harry’s face, leaving a melty mess on his face, and the rest of the scoop to slide down on the bench and the ground.

“Prick,” Harry laughs, not even bothering to wipe away the slop on his face.

Louis shrugs. He knows it’d be cliche to say something about how he could help clean it up, but he can’t help it. Everything seems funny with Harry, and even the dumbest of cliches make sense.

So Louis pulls Harry in, and tastes the leftover vanilla.

\---

Harry strolls back into the bedroom, while Louis just watches still splayed out on the bed. 

Harry’s pants ride low on his hips and Louis is still partly surprised he even put them back on at all. 

“Here, drink this,” Harry says, offering the steaming mug to Louis.

Louis props himself up against the headboard, bringing the duvet back up around his waist.

It’s a testament to how much he trusts Harry that he blows on the cup briefly before taking a sip.

“What is this?” Louis asks, looking up at him.

Harry rolls his eyes fondly and settles back down on the bed. “Tea.”

“Tea made of…?” Louis prompts. He expects some kind of elabourate answer, something made with all kinds of witchy ingredients.

“Uh, leaves,” Harry laughs, and he burrows closer into Louis’ body.

“Really?” Louis eyes the liquid again. “No newt?”

“Does it taste like newt?” Harry asks, eyes closed.

Louis sniffs. “No. Little like licorice root, though.”

“Mmmm,” Harry murmurs.

They sit for a moment before Harry blinks an eye open. “I really am the worst at potions. But I’m not so bad that I would fake-feed you some as a test,” Harry laughs.

Louis shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… since you’ve made me that potion, I haven’t had many issues with the spirits. I mean, no issues at all, really. Makes me think you’re not so rubbish at all.”

Harry sits up. “I mean, maybe. But also, what if it’s not even the potions at all? What if it’s just… you?”

“Come again?” Louis asks, blowing still on his tea.

Harry shrugs. “You were in a really bad place when you got here. But things have gotten better recently. I mean, at least I hope. So maybe that has something to do with it?”

“You mean you have something to do with it?” Louis teases.

Harry groans, dropping his head back. “Not really what I meant.”

“No, but you’re right,” Louis agrees. “Things have gotten better recently, and not just because the terrors have kind of stopped.”

“Maybe just… having someone who knows you and knows all your secrets helps.”

“That’s true,” Louis muses, “I haven’t really had anyone who’s known every single part of me.”

Harry smirks. Louis blushes. He hadn’t meant to come on so strongly, but it seems like Harry doesn’t mind. 

“I don’t think a potion is what’s fixing you. I think you’re doing it. Not fighting everything alone, letting people in, accepting yourself. Less likely to attract demons that way.”

“A different kind of magic,” Louis quips before taking a sip.

Harry has a point. While he makes a stellar cup of tea, it’s become obvious the shop gets by on the occult books and touristy vibe, not in any of the supposed remedies he crafts.

Still, Louis can’t hold it against Harry. While he may not be great at potion brewing, there are a million other ways he’s helped Louis, not least of which is helping him to take another step forward.

Without warning, Louis leans forward and catches Harry’s lips with his own. It’s so delicate, this new relationship, and yet, Louis has never once felt like diving into something head first before. He’s acted on impulse, sure, but this feels right. 

Louis pulls back with a shy smile and settles back against the pillow. He looks at his telephone over by the windowsill. It’s been sitting there, shut up and wasting space since he’s arrived. There’s a thin layer of dust on it now.

His fingers itch to touch it suddenly, to press the screen and call someone outside this village.

So he does.

He passes his still-warm mug over to Harry, who accepts it without question. He climbs over Harry in an effort to get to this phone-- shamelessly flaunting his bum while he does so. The phone, obviously confused, takes a moment to boot up in his hand.

When it does, he breathes, and breathes again.

He presses the button for his contacts.


End file.
